Tomators VS Potators
by SakuraAlex
Summary: How much did Lovino and Gilbert wish sitting at Feliciano's side in the meetings? Who knows. The only thing sure is that from that ridiculous detail, Francis could devise a competition...rather peculiar.
1. The great idea of the frog

Hi everyone! This is my first translation ever. I'm not a native English speaker, so, please, if there's any mistake, tell me so that I cant correct it.

I hope you enjoy it.

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><p><strong>Translator's disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Hetalia, nor this story. Unbelievable, uh? xD

**Author's disclaimer:** I'm not Himaruya, so I don't own Hetaila. It's sad, but the truth~

**Warnings (in this chapter):** Dirty words that good children shouldn't say~

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><p>Giving up was for cowards. And Gilbert Beilshmidt, of course, considered that the key of success was perseverance. Yes, he remembered that in the seven years war nobody bet a penny on him; he won. Those times were as awesome as a birdie! Then, when Russia took him (in other words, he kidnapped him in a bad way), his maximum goal was stealing Hungary's bra; he stole it. As the time went by, his aims were more pathetic before the other nation's eyes. At that time, his objective was sitting down at his good friend Spain's side in that conference.<p>

But obviously, there always had to be the typical pain in the ass which was annoying him all the time. In that case, that terrible pain was called Lovino Vargas. The Italian was almost sit at the Spaniard's side when Gilbert, in the time that a humming bird last in flap its wings, appeared out of nowhere and snatched him the chair. He stuck his tongue out. Nevertheless, South Italy was also rather stubborn, so he grabbed the chair on one side and pulled it. France and Spain were too busy chatting about their nonsense to realize how the situation was.

'Drop it, fuck! I came before!' Lovino shouted furiously.

'Don`t even dream it, brat!' he pulled it rather hard. 'I took the chair before!'

'But why the fuck do you come to the conference if you're not a country?'Lovino was already red because of the furious.

'Because I just fucking want!' he frowned. Such a jerk, my God 'And drop it already!'

'Hey, guys, what are you doing?' Spain asked, pulling a curious face.

'Oh, Toño!' Gilbert cried, amazed. He knew that now his friend would help him and get him a place where sitting. That blessed Spaniard. 'Tell to that crazy Italian to let me the chair!'

Antonio was doubtful. He didn`t know why those two were grabbing a chair, but they seemed to be having fun. On their own way, of course.

'Lovi, sit down at my side' he crooned, with a huge smile.

'I can't, your friend doesn't let me' he talked back, folding his arms.

'Gil, c'mon, let him getting the place' he said him happily, and with a hint of condescension.

'And where do I sit down' he asked annoyed, and, at the bottom, hurt.

'Well, at Francis' side'

'But if he is sitting down in a corner!' he pointed at the Frenchman, who was having a quick glance at him. 'How the hell do you want me to do it!'

'You can take a stool, Gilbo' Francis winked at him, 'or you can sit directly on my lap'

Shocked, Prussia drop the chair and Lovino took advantage of that to sit at his guardian's side. The albino couldn't believe it. The damn Antonio preferred the company of that bitter Italian before than his own company. And also he had suggested him sitting at that frog's side! Damn Spaniard. Damn frog. Damn Italian. Damn everyone. They weren't worthy of talking to someone as awesome as him, of course not! After all, he was awesome and shouldn't go around with that kind of people.

With a little tear on his eye caused by some mysterious substance (obviously, he _wasn't_ crying), Gilbert searched around the room for a free place to sit. Germany was the one who was going to give the talk, so he was rejected. The sissy aristocrat was sat next to the evil beast of Hungary, so that option was also discarded. And all of a sudden, as if it was a divine appearance, he saw how a brown very particular haircurl was dancing in the air. Prussia's face lighted up, completely dazzled seeing that person with a free chair at his side.

'Feliiiii!' he ran towards him in slow-motion, with a stupid smile in his face.' Feliiii!'

The person in question just wave Germany's big brother. Although Ludwig always said him that his brother was a bit weird, the truth is that he didn't seem to be a bad guy. In fact, he was rather nice… sometimes, of course.

'You aren't going to believe it, Feli, but your brother took my place' he pouted, completely indignant. Life wasn't fair ,'do you think it's normal, ah, do you think?

'Ve, no way!' he was surprised. 'What's happened?'

Prussia got ready to tell him without missing a thing about everything that had happened minutes ago. Lovino's overprotective instinct suddenly turned on. Somebody was near his brother. Somebody evil. Indeed, he had a quick glance at his brother—who was virtually at the other side of the room— and he realized that the fucking potato-bastard was at his side. He frowned and talked with Antonio who, after hesitating for a moment, nodded with a radiant smile. Both of them got up an approached the place where North Italy and his partner were.

'Oh. ¡Brother! ¡Uncle Spain!' North Italy exclaimed with a smile.

'Hi, Feli! I'm glad to see you!' he answered the same way. 'Oh, Gil, Lovi has said that he wouldn't mind change places with you. Do you come with Francis and me?'

'No way' he said, surprisingly fast. 'Nobody rejects this awesome server. Moreover, I'm happy here with Feli.'

'Yeah, right' the older of the Vargas tried to push him off the seat. 'Go away with your stupid friends and let me sit with my brother!'

'No fucking way! You preferred being with Toño!' he got rid of him. 'Live with the consequences!'

Lovino's bloodshot eyes fixed on the albino. Antonio, as a precautionary measure, moved away some centimeters from the Italian.

'Feli, which one do you prefer to sit?' asked Spain, smiling as always.

Both Prussia and Romano observed Spain with curiosity. For once he had a reasonable idea. Miracle!

'Obviously, he prefers to be with my awesome person.

'What are you saying, loser. I'm his brother and he prefers to be with me. Right, Feliciano?

The poor Italian didn't know what to say. Although he loved his brother a lot, the truth was that he scared him a lot, especially when he got angry that way. On the other hand, Ludwig's brother was weird and sometimes upset him a little. What should he do?

'Ve, I…' He looked everywhere, looking for help.

'Decided, I'll sit with him!' The Prussian announced to all and sundry, grabbing young's right arm.

'Don´t even believed that!' he clutched to Italy's other arm. 'Feliciano will be with me!'

And both began to pull of Feliciano, as if he was a rope. Antonio tried to put some common sense in the minds of those two, but that a crazy person tries to calm down other crazy people never works. Lovino's instinct turned on again. He looked at Feliciano. He was still shaking like a leaf, but he was almost sure that it wasn't his overprotective instinct which had got turned on. He stared Spain. There was the problem! Taking advantage of all the chaos generated, Farnce had already got up and had got near his friend the stealthiest way he could, touching him up discreetly under the shirt. Seeing that , Lovino dropped his brother all of a sudden. France realized that the older Italian had caught him, but far from getting panicked, he coughed and put an elegant and intelligent pose ( thus, without putting his hand off Antonio's torso)

'Guys, guys, calm down' he said, with a calm air. 'Do you know how we solve the problems in my land?

'With pasta?' asked the Italian innocently, hopeful.

'No'

'With strikes?'

'Apart from that, Toño'

While they were trying to find the answer, Germany got ready to begin the conference, although he was being bothering by that difficult and noisy group, which was also standing, what was alarming rude.

'You!, sit down immediately!' he raised his voice so they could hear him. 'The meeting is going to begin and…'

'Because I know that you aren't going to get it right in your life' he stopped to increase the inexistent tension. 'I'll give you the answer'

'I am telling you to sit!' Ludwig insisted, angrier than before. 'May you want to hear me?'

'The best way of resolution a conflict is by a competition!' the Frenchman announced to all and sundry in order to catch everyone's attention.

'France, I am asking for silence' the Germanic continued, although he was conscious that hardly a soul was listening to him.

'A competition?' asked Gilbert, a little confused

'Exactly. You, Lovino Vargas, and you, Gilbo, should compete for a sit.' He smiled, satisfied.

'I like your way of thinking, frog!' Gilbert was putting his sleeves up, anxious for hitting the Italian, who was already hidden behind Spain, looking for protection.

'Not so fast!' Francis interrupted. 'This isn't about fighting like baboons! I mean a dignified competition, team work!'

'Continue…' the Prussian mumbled, more interested in, if possible.

'No, he is not going to continue' Germany protested. 'We are in the middle of a meeting, do you remember? Let the gossip for later.'

'What?' Belgium complained. 'This is getting really interesting! I want to know what the competition is about.'

Some nations supported the Belgian, so that Germany, with all his sorrow, had to give them five minutes (timed, thus) so the Frenchman put in common his ideas about how Lovino and Gilbert should meet. Every country stared at them, some of them even open-mouthed, because only his voice could be heard. You couldn't hear even a pin drop, with got Germany furious in a bad way. How could be possible that for some responsible nations that childish game was more important that the economic crisis. That was unbelievable!

…But now he was also feeling curious.

'Look, my idea is that Gilbert and Lovino set up two teams!' Francis was speaking slowly, pronouncing each one of the words with perfect diction. 'Each team would be formed by three people, without counting their respective captains, of course.

'Such a fucking shit. Don't count on me' Romano grumbled

'You're scared! Kesesesese! I already knew that I inspired too much respect, brat!

'Shut up now, damn it'

'I haven't finished yet, guys' France coughed and continued. 'There will be four tests, not one less, not one more. I promise to organize the event, the only thing I need now is a neutral arbitrator to help me.'

Hearing the word "neutral", everybody stared at Switzerland, who felt embarrassed instantly. He didn't want to take part of that circus! He hardly knew what the hell he was doing in an economic meeting, so that he even had to do such a stupid and trivial task.

'I see that the young Switzerland offers himself volunteer' France said with an evil smile. 'I promise you that we will work side by side, _petit suisse_.

'Don't involve me in your fiddle!'

'Why not, little brother?' Liechtenstein was slightly exited with the project. 'It seems funny.'

The Switzerland man got blushed fast. Well, if to Liechtenstein that was fine, why shouldn't he try it? Moreover, seeing the other nations humiliating each other wouldn't be _so_ bad. It will surely be mucho more pleasant and productive that any meeting.

'That doesn't make any sense!' England was still against it. 'Can't we continue with the meeting?

'You're envy because you won't be able to participate in the project, aren't you?' France asked him evilly.

'W-what? Who said that I want to participate in _that_? Furthermore, why do you assume that I'm _not_ going to participate?' he was contradicting himself, but he couldn't avoid it. He felt too many people staring at him.

'Even if you wanted to participate, I wouldn't let you.' France answered calm. No with that eyebrows'

Arthur was going to jump on him for such a free comment, but Germany got up and pointed out that the five minutes had already passed. All the presents, resigned and with a gloomy face had to put up with that interesting talk that Ludwig had to tell them. Nevertheless, everybody had the competition in mind, in special southern Italy's and a certain Prussian's, whom sometimes looked at each other, full of hatred. Moreover, in spite of the Italian, Prussia had ended sitting with Feliciano and himself with Antonio. Damn, he had to have chosen his brother's side on first place! If he had thought it deep at that moment, no one of the big headaches that were going to torment them would happen.

Suddenly, both Lovino and Gilbert got a Frenchmen's letter. He announce them that they had to choose their fellow team members as soon as possible. The Italian, more or less, already knew who he wanted to accompany him, but Gilbert's brain didn't seem to know what to do.

When that soporific talk had ended, Lovino and Gilbert ran towards Antonio fast, competing against each other to choose him before. He was Prussia's last hope! All of a sudden, Spain saw how his shoulders were roughly grabbed by a furious Italian and a panting Prussian. That make him feel uneasy.

'Take part in my team!' both exclaimed at the same time, resolutely.

'Ok' Antonio smiled

'Ok _what_?' asked Lovino. Both he and his enemy had delivered the question at the same time, so that answer was quite ambiguous.

'He is obviously referring at his old friend!' Prussia put an arm at the Spaniard's shoulder, smiling humorous. 'Right?'

'Oh, no, sure not' he moved the arm slowly, without stopping smiling. 'I meant that I would go with Lovi.'

'Swine Spaniard! It's the second time that you stand me up today!' Gilbert's pale face pouted again. 'Better, you are very weak, so I don't want you in my team!

Lovino went on looking for people for his team. He made a very small smile knowing that he could count on Antonio. "In your face, you Prussian bastard" he laughed for himself. When he saw Netherlands and Belgium far away, he felt he had to run towards them, because those two where the chosen ones to help him in the competition.

'Count on me!' Belgium exclaimed. 'Do you join it, little brother?

'I don't let you alone with those two even as a joke' he said annoyed, giving Lovino a disdainful look.

'Is that a yes…?' Romano asked, little intimidated.

'You can interpret it that way, yes.'

The Italian let out a big sigh of relief. Well, he had a real weigh off his mind. He didn't know at what point he had begun to get interested by the project, or better, get interested on beating Gilbert the cruelest and vilest way possible. The Prussian, on the other hand, hadn't any team member yet. Nevertheless, he already knew who were part of Romano's group, so now he had the opportunity to take members whose qualities where rather better than the Italian's fellows.

Lovino had chosen a tall, strong and blonde man, so Gilbert chose Ludwig for his group. Obviously, the German didn't willingly agree, not at all. He had to resign himself when his older brother threatened him to show everybody the kind of archives that he hid in his computer.

Next, the Italian had with him a woman. There, Gilbert didn't hesitate for even an instant. The most powerful woman in the world wasn't other than Hungary, who accepted completely happy…what was rather strange. Surely, that crazy woman had something to hide.

And at last, in the other group there was a fool: Antonio. Prussia had no option but take another weak idiot, in other words, Austria. Roderich complained at the beginning and answered with an empathic 'no', but by extortion he could add the Austrian to the group. Well, now everything was ready.

Gilbert smiled over-confident. He couldn't wait to taste the sickly sweet flavor of victory.

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><p>See you in chapter 2!<p> 


	2. Bananas and Smacks

Here is the second chapter. Enjoy!

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><p>An exactly week had gone by since France had proposed the competition. Almost every country was excited thinking about the topic, so everyone put a penny to fill the piggy. They chose a deserted plot of land situated in a forgotten place near the border between Germany and Austria and they set up the platform there. Francis, as the lover of good taste that he was, wanted and <em>had to<em> take care of the artistic section, but certain annoying Polish didn't stop insisting on that everything should be covered of pink. The Frenchmen, already tired, answered him that nobody — with the exception of Feliks and Lovino, who was always wearing pink shirts— liked pink so much. Nobody.

Although there had been little problems of all kinds, at the end France got his purpose: having the great place where the competition took place. He, Switzerland and Liechtenstein would be sit in splendid armchairs strategically situated in a little scenario decorated with all kinds of flags with tomators and potators motifs in honor of the participant teams. Then, surrounding everything, there would be the stands for the observers, where the rest of the nation would be watching the show at the same time that they would be eating popcorn, or, if this isn't possible, seeds. The only thing that France had asked Switzerland for in connection with the set was the point where the members of each team would be while their partners where "bloodily fighting" and, as it was expected from the Switzerland man, he took two old wooden benches half nibbled by the rats and he placed them anyway. That, of course, wasn't really glamorous.

But that stupid detail wasn't important. It was the great day, the great moment, and Francis, dressed up with the loudest costume that he found, was the presenter who had to inaugurate the ceremony. Vash and his little sister wore clothes that matched with Frenchmen's, much to the Switzerland man regret. He felt like a clown.

'Ladies and gentlemen, I'm proud and satisfied of inaugurating this ceremony!' he said, with the microphone on his hand. 'We are here together to know who will sit at Italy's side' he pointed at the aforesaid, sat in an outstanding place of the stands, and winked him 'during the meetings. The looser won't have an alternative but sitting at my good friend Toni's side.

'Why does he say it as if it were a punishment—?' a certain Spaniard asked, offended.

'Because it is' Netherlands answered, giving him a glance full of hatred.

'Let's start with the tomator team, lead by the brother of our charming Italy, Romano! A round of applause to the tomato team!

The team in question got up of their nibbled benches (Netherlands could swear that that bench made strange and mysterious noises) and went towards the centre of the stage. The four ones were wearing white sleeveless shirts and red pants too short and tight. _Too much_. Spain, with all the happiness of the world, waved the observers and threw them kisses.

'Toño, greet Uncle Francis!' he exclaimed, captivated because of the presence of his friend wearing so provocative clothes, which were chosen by the Frenchman himself.

'Hi, Francis!' he wave his hand. 'Wish as good luck!'

'But you aren't supposed to be impartial?' Switzerland asked, with his arms crossed. Francis was still waving his friend as a fool.

'I'm impartial!' he protested and cleared his throat. 'Well, now we'll introduce the potato team itself, leaded by the brother of the guy who has "special" relationships— ' he winked an eye mischievously '—with Italy! A round of applause to the potato team!

And with similar uniforms of the other team's, with yellow pants instead of red ones, the potators appeared with a rather shier behavior than their rivals. Germany, because of the words of that damn frog, was redder and embarrassed since ever. And those little pants didn't do anything but make things worse. Roderich's reaction was similar to the German and Prussia was just smiling arrogantly, with the look of someone who is convinced that is going to win. Hungary was the only one who seemed truly happy. When all's said and done, she had a group of handsome guys (except Prussia, he was ugly) wearing sensual clothes. She even had binoculars hanging on her neck to see better what the tomators could do. That was juicy! She waved her friend Belgium with a smile, who answered the same way.

'Gilbo! Gilbo!' Francis exclaimed, looking for a smile from the Prussian

The only thing that he got was a "go to the fucking hell"*, really unpleasant. Well, really! Prussia didn't have feelings. Francis considered that that was because all the hits with the frying pan that Hungary gave him and surely she crushed his heart and that's how he is now.

'And now, participants must shake hands!' the presenter announced 'Uncle Francis likes sportsmanship!'

Obeying the Frenchman, both teams were in line and extended a hand for the person who'd be in front of them. Hungary was wit Belgium, Austria with Spain, Germany with Netherlands and, obviously, Prussia with Romano. The captains, far away from behave with sportsmanship; they were already squeezing their hands to see who hurt most.

'Let me go already, fuck!' the Italian was complaining.

'You first!'

Germany, sighting already exhausted (and the competition was just starting!) separate both of them and scold his brother because his childish behavior. He wouldn't say anything to Lovino because he didn't dare to speak to that short-tempered Italian anymore.

'Very well! Now we only have to wave our neutral arbitrator, Switzerland!' he expected to someone to applause. Nobody did 'And to our charming helper, Liechtenstein! 'Everybody exploded in applause. The girl felt that her blood was moving to her cheeks in a rush 'All of this said, we will begin with our first proof! It isn't a normal one, but it needs an unbeatable amount of bruit strength. Captains, choose a partner!'

An unbeatable amount of bruit strength? Prussia took his little brother's muscular arm in an instant. Who could be stronger than his little brother? As far as Lovino was concerned, he stared at the Dutchman, who nodded without complaining at any moment.

'The proof is called "Banana fight", and it consists in that the contestants must take their bananas and fight' France explained, proud of himself.

'I don't know if you are aware of how perverted that sounds' Vash remarked, frowning.

'Oh, oh, oh, _petit Suisse_, I think that it is you who has the perverted mind' the truth was that everybody had interpreted the same thing. 'But maybe you are right so I'll make it clear. Our _adorable_ contestants will have to take a banana and use it as if it were a sword! They'll fight their rival this way. The only thing that you must keep in mind is that the bananas must end intact, eh?' he smiled with a seductive air 'Who ends with the banana cut in half or crushed, loses.

'Wait, frog! May I know what the hell is this related with the bruit strength? You have tricked us! Prussia protested at the top of his voice and shaking wildly his arms as if he was a jailed chimpanzee.

'Bruit strength? I haven't said that at any moment, buy "fruit" strength! Hohoho!

'You are a son of a "fruit"!' the Prussian crossed his hands and pouted. Damn frog.

Liechtenstein took two bananas of a basket that France had given her some minutes ago and gave them to both contestants, giving them a little smile full of sweetness. Netherlands couldn't stop staring at the girl. So small, so pretty, so fragile… she was perfect. And he loved everything which was perfect. Switzerland noticed that detail and took his gun, just in case. If that giant dares to touch his little sister, he would be there with his gun to move away that Dutch giant finger from her.

'Let's start the battle of bananas!' the arbitrator announced, still staring bloodily at certain pedophile Dutchman.

With the bananas in their power, both participants slowly approached, examining the air. How were they supposed to fight with a banana? In the potato team, Prussia cheered his brother up to all and sundry, meanwhile the tomator one, Spain and Belgium did the same, but they had banners in support, full of hearts and tulips.

'May the best man win' Ludwig whispered just to say something.

The Dutchman had the sportsmanship hidden in a secret place of his heart, and locked, so the first thing he did was raising the banana and smack the other blonde's fruit. The banana cut in half. _Shit_.

'Such a jerk—' Lovino mumbled, covering his front with a hand. He was starting bad.

'Well…Germany is the winner of the first proof! One point for the potato team!

The winner came back a bit disorientated to the bench of his team, being congratulated by his partners. Netherlands, even more puzzled if such a thing is possible, only received a little pat on his back that Spain had given him with a smile, some comforting words from his sister and several insults muttered in Italian.

'Netherlands, can I ask you something?' the captain intervened.

'Tell me'

'Are you stupid? How it is possible that you lose in less than two seconds?' he was red because of rage 'And on top of that against of the macho-potator! Fuck, Netherlands, you could have done it better*!

Netherlands looked away. He already knew that he had lost and he didn't feel like they rubbed salt into the wound. Anyways, that mess was really important? It was a rather absurd competition.

'Netherlands, can I asked you something?' Spain asked this time.

'No'

'Please!'

'I said no'

'Oh, came on!'

'God, such annoying…' he sighted 'Okay, tell me'

'Can you give me the banana' he smiled in a silly way 'I'm hungry'

After giving the Spaniard a furious glance, he gave him the banana cut in half. Antonio received it willingly, tasting it as if it was the best jewel of gastronomic that he had tasted in his long life.

'Such a good banana!' he exclaimed, happy.

'Don't put yourself like this because of a banana, idiot' Romano mumbled, rather stressed.

Francis smiled. It seemed that the audience was quite cheerful and, although the first proof had been too brief because the roughness of certain wandering Dutchman, the truth was that all the remaining things were just fine. It was time to begin the second proof.

'Captains, choose a team member' the presenter exclaimed again 'This proof is called "You're going bad-ass" and you'll have to answer questions! Intelligence will be valued.

Intelligence. That was the keyword for Lovino Vargas. Netherlands had already shown his incompetence in that proof before and Antonio was…Antonio. Putting in an intelligence proof a guy who was eating a banana half crushed would show a lack of common sense on him, so there was only one person left in his group who could participate…

'Lovi! Can I participate?' asked the Spaniard, still chewing the yellow fruit.

'No fucking way. You are stupid.'

'Lovi, can I participate?' asked Belgium, with a radiant smile in her face.

'Of course you can' he answered softly 'In fact, I had already thought about choosing you.'

'What does she have that I don't?' he asked surprised. Now the banana tasted bad.

The girl jumped for joy and caressed Spain's head, who seemed like an abandoned puppy. He felt bad because his beloved Lovi didn't trust him and that hurt him. Now he knew what Netherland's banana had felt when it was crushed.

On Prussia's side, the situation was similar. Austria, claiming that he was a sensible and educated man, wanted to be the participant, but Gilbert prevented him from doing it.

'This proof is too much for you, Sissy aristocrat' he smiled in a cocky way.

'Gilbert! Let Roderich participate!' Hungary exclaimed, with a hint of annoyed.

'I'm saying no! I'm the awesome captain and you have to follow my awesome rules!' he put his arms on his hip, looking at his partners arrogantly. 'And so that the Italian brat has chosen Belgium, I choose you, Elizabeta!'

Switzerland, looking at the contestants from the top of his armchair, was getting impatience. Why should they take it so long? He hit the floor with his foot and cleared his throat, showing his dissatisfaction. Francis got the message and took the microphone again.

'Came on, guys! Hurry up!' he was also quite tired of waiting 'Also I have to add something that I forgot to say before! Each team has a wildcard, I mean, if they see that their partners need help, you will be able to help them…But just once!'

Belgium smiled, confident. She didn't need anyone to help her, of course not. After all, she was a strength and determined young woman.

'Oh, such a forgetful person I am!' Francis intervened, but this time his voice was darker and perverted 'In this proof, you will need another member of the team! We don't have buttons so we had to manage to put the proof on a sound footing…In other words, instead of button, we will use the bottom of one of his partners. Who smacks the buttocks of her partner has the right to answer. And if one of you fail an answer, will have to kiss the other.

'Wait a second!' Switzerland got up, seething 'Don't make up, the proof didn't included _that_.'

'I think that smack a partner is quite excessive' Liechtenstein mentioned, blushed because of the idea.

'Oh, no, that part it's good' the Switzerland said, with his cheeks a bit blushed too. 'What it's no good is the part of the kiss. Take it out, frog!'

'Yes, yes, I'm coming. That was only a little joke' pretending apprehension

Neither the members of the potator team nor the tomator team could believe it. Smacks? They were stupid, because for a moment they had forgotten that who had organized that competition had being nobody but the perverted of _France_, the degenerated par excellence.

'Spain, come with me!' Belgium carried him, too excited about it. Yes, she didn't try to hide her yearn to touch the bottom of the young man.

Romano was no happy because of the excitement of the Belgium, and Netherlands even less. But they weren't jealous or something similar.

In the other team, Hungary thought that she was going to die at any moment, because the way that her heart was beating wasn't normal. _It wasn't_. But it wasn't really normal that she had to participate in a proof in which she had to touch Austria "that". He, the same as his partner, was dismayed because of the organization of such competition. If it wasn't that Prussia had blackmailed him, the Austrian had proudly gone away that madness.

'By the way, Hungary, you have to take your binoculars off! Safety reasons' made France clear, with a not really convincing tone of voice 'Please, Liech, go and take them'

The girl obeyed and she went to take the binoculars which were hanging from the Hungarian's neck. She wasn't willing to give her that object, but she had no option. Liechtenstein gave them to France, who use them immediately to discern those bottoms which were so hot. Austria's one was quite adorable, but his good Spaniard friend's one was at another level. Such an ass!

'You two, put your ass out!' Francis ordered, already drooling 'Those are the rules!'

Resigned, Antonio and Roderich put their trunk down and stretched their bottoms, leaving a great view to the presenter of the contest. Belgium and Hungary were already in front of those buttocks and they were watching them quite disturbed. It was true that the Belgium had been excited with the idea, but now she wasn't so sure. How was she going to smack the poor Spain? That would be too cruel!

'Well, now that everyone is already, let's begin the proof!' he claimed '_Petit suisse_, please, proceed to carry out the questions'

'Question number 1: Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?'

Hungary knew the answer, but she was still feeling bad because of having to smack the bottom of her ex-husband. Belgium, on her side, wanted to win. She just wanted to win, so she hurried in giving the smack of its life to that backside. The poor guy protested. How rude Belgium was when she was interested in!

'SpongeBob' the blonde woman exclaimed, convinced of her answer.

'Correct!' Switzerland cleared it up. He was embarrassed because of doing such stupis questions, but as Francis said, _c'est la vie _'Question number 2: Who has the ugliest eyebrows in the world?'

'England!' Belgium shouted after smacking again his friend's bottom.

The laugh of certain American and several insults from the English were heard from the stands, who thought that that attack to his person was quite free. They not only didn't let him to participate in the competition but they were laughing of him!

'Correct! Question number 3: How are Prussia's underpants?'

'Elizabeta, if you know the answers, reply' the Austrian clarified, embarrassed 'Don't worry about me'

'But Roderich—'

'But why should someone have to know how my underpants are?' Prussia shouted from the bench, getting more indignant as the seconds went by.

Belgium hesitated. The truth was that he didn't remember seeing his underpants and in the hypothetical case she had done it, she trusted in that Gilbert was decent enough to change them. After all, he wasn't filthy enough to have only one pair of underpants; was he? Hungary, for some mysterious and possibly dark reason, did knew very well how absolutely all his underpants were. She wasn't proud of knowing such a piece of information, but you can never learn too much. She had a look at the Prussian. It was an important day for him, so he'd probably had chosen some underpants which bring him good luck. She had already decided it. She put her hands over the Austrian's buttocks quite embarrassed.

'White and with chicks!' she announced to all and sundry

'Correct!'

At that moment Gilbert's face was very much red that the red pants of the tomator team. The worst thing was that his flush got redder when he heard the guffaws of the observers. What the hell was so funny about that? Everybody had the right to wear adorable underpants! He looked at the other bench: Netherlands had his eyebrows slightly raised and Lovino was laughing evilly.

'Question number 4: Who has bigger breasts, Hungary or Monaco?' Switzerland blushed reading such question.

'Hungary!' Belgium answered with a victorious smile after giving the corresponding smack to the Spaniard.

Everybody was silent. And why did Belgium know the answer? It was noticeable that all the francophone had some element inherit from Francis, but Belgium had inherited the worst, possibly. Hungary didn't know where to look, so she decided that the most reasonable thing to do was stare at the floor. Yes, that would be _the best_.

'Correct! Last question! Who is the nation of _l'amour_?'

'Uncle Francis!' Belgium answered, smacking again the hurt Spain's buttocks. The poor guy was wishing that all that nightmare ended, because his back hurt and he felt as if his bottom was going to catch fire at any moment.

'Correct! One point for the tomator team!'

Spain recovered his upright composure and hugged devotionally his friend. He wasn't angry anymore with her for being so rude, but now he was jubilant because of having winning one of the proofs. Austria and Hungary didn't seem very disappointed for having lost, but his captain was. He was biting his nails and that was everything except awesome.

'¡Well, guys! Now we'll have a little break!' France announced 'We'll see again in ten minutes!'

France took the opportunity to stretched his legs and talk to the public, to know what they thought of the competition. Firstly he spoke briefly to Seychelles, who congratulate him for created such particular proofs. He smiled proudly; being aware of that he was one of the best geniuses on the face of Earth. Who wasn't seem to be so satisfied was Arthur, who graved the gale from the neck whit the evil intention of straggling him at the instant he sighted him.

'You! Why the hell did you have to put a question about my eyebrows?' England shook fiercely the good guy of Francis, who was already starting to feel dizzy.

'Calm down! Calm down! Where's you humor sense?'

'Which fucking humor sense? I'm the laughing stock of everyone because of your fucking fault!'

'But if you were already before…' he mumbled very low 'Came on, came on, don't infuriate. Uncle Francis has came to give you a thing'

He picked a little note from the pocket of his loud suit. The Britain looked at it suspiciously, but he decided to take it some second later.

'It isn't your number telephone…again, is it?'

'Hohoho! Don't make me laugh, Artie! Of course not!' he looked at his "friend" with superiority. He was too seductive and handsome to be with someone like Arthur 'I only came to tell you that I need your help for the last proof. Look the note and make sure that no one reads it' he winked him an eye and left.

Arthur had a look at it and, immediately, his face lighted up. At last he'd have the opportunity to show the world how useful he could be! He smiled satisfied.

The proof was on its Ecuador and both teams were equal. Lovino and Gilbert exchanged their glances. They didn't even remember anymore why they were facing each other, but they did know that they had to beat the other in any way. At any cost.

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><p><strong>Go to the fucking hell: <strong>OK, I didn't know how the fucking hell to translate the original sentence, even looking for help through the net. So I just changed it into something that everybody would understand. I'm really sorry.

**You could have done it better**: …Read the note before this one.

In fact, I think that those expresions don't even exist in English. Anyway...

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><p>Thanks for reading. See you in chapter 3!<p> 


	3. Eyebrows covered with dandruff

Here is the last chapter. Enjoy!

**Warnings**: Insults, description that can hurt somebody's sensibility (?)

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><p>After a break full of tension and bad vibrations, Francis came back to the scenario to let begin the third proof. He swallowed hard. How fast time went by! He took the microphone and looked at the public with a radiant and seductive smile, although the viewers preferred him to stop doing pieces of nonsense and continue with his work. The only one who didn't curse the presenter was Alfred, because he was too worried thinking about Arthur. Where had he gone? He could go to look for him, but he didn't want to miss it for the world. After racking his brain for a while with that dilemma, he decided that the best thing to do was waiting a bit. Maybe he had a bowel movement, and as the good constipated man he was, he would need to take his time. Alfred smiled mockingly; maybe England's bitter character was caused by a lack of fiber.<p>

'Ladies and gentlemen! I inform you that the break has just ended!' Francis pretended to sound upset 'But don't worry, because now will begin the penultimate proof, which receives the name of "The Beauty and the Beast"! I have to remind the participants that none of the teams has used the wild card yet.

'Explain what the proof is about…' certain Switzerland mentioned, annoyed.

'Don't be impatient, _petit suisse_' he wicked him an eye, considering himself to be the sexiest creature in the galaxy' "The Beauty and the Beast" involves in that our "beauties", who I will disclose that they will be Austria and Spain, must make "the Beast" laugh! The only rule is that tickling _isn't_ allowed, everything else is. Any question?'

'Who is "the Beast"?' Roderich asked, fearing the worst thing.

France smiled evilly, making both participants' spine shiver in a terrifying way. He snapped and from the cloth that covered the background Estonia and Latvia came out towing _something_ put on a small platform with wheel covered by a blanket. Spain and Austria swallowed hard. France indicated Liechtenstein to go down and take away the blanket, and she nodded slightly. The little girl uncovered decisiveness that _something_, and in front of everyone's eyes Belarus appeared_. Caged_.

Some insane person had put Russia's psychopath sister in a cage. But where the hell was human's common sense? The public was a bit afraid seeing that, but the tomators and potators looked as if they might die because of a potato fit (or _tomato_ fit*, in Lovino's team case). Did the proof consist on making Belarus laugh? Impossible!

'Oh, my God' Spain was going to faint at any moment, he knew it.

Although Netherlands kept his composure as much as he could and Belgium showed an expression of clear concern, Lovino felt that his legs were going to broke at any moment. He didn't want that the idiot of Antonio would die! The Belgian hugged Spain, being aware of that that would be the last time she could do it. The girl's brother put a hand over the dark-haired nation's shoulder, staring at his eyes.

'Rest in peace' Netherlands just mumbled.

'I haven't died yet!' he protested.

'And you won't die, idiot!' Lovino shouted, at the same time that he shook Antonio fiercely and deliriously. 'Promise me that anything will happen to you…'

Spain didn't answer. He thought that it was too cute that his old henchman showed so much worry, but the truth was that he couldn't assure him that he'll survive.

In the potator team, the members behaved as mature and civilized people, or at least they tried it. Ludwig and Elizaveta tried to make their partners see that Belarus was a normal person and that they needn't to be melodramatic. But of course, his leader was, precisely, one of the most melodramatic people that there was and there will be.

'Oh, God, I never wanted someone to die!' Gilbert was nearly pulling out his hear 'I only wanted to take the seat away from the Italian brat, not being the death of any sissy aristocrat!'

'Roderich isn't going to die!' Hungary complained, reproaching the Prussian with her glance 'H-he only has to get that girl to smile a bit, a-anything more!'

'Good luck, Austria' Germany gave him pats on the back 'You will need it'

'Roderich, I…' Hungary hesitated a bit. She didn't what to say him, so she just gave him a kiss on his cheek.

But Austria didn't answer. He was paler than ever, and his face was cold as ice. Gilbert reached the conclusion that he had died, but the Hungarian was fast giving him a slap to the back of the head because of saying such perturbing words…and possibly true. After some minutes of inward soliloquies, Austria moved forward to the centre of the scenario until meet Antonio, who gave him a melancholic smile. If they were going to die, at least they preferred to do it with someone they trusted.

'L-let's start the proof!' Switzerland exclaimed, worried about the survival of his _old_ friend.

'Calm down, _petit suisse, _don't you see that the girl is caged?' Francis put his arm on the arbitrator's shoulder to calm him down.

'Do you want to stop calling me yogurt?' Vash elbowed the frog.

'I don't know why you behave like that; anyway the worst proof is the last one…' France mumbled with a malevolent smile. Everyone would be going to get it.

Antonio, a bit nervous, got near the cage and stared at Belarus. She seemed to be pretty calm, to say the truth. Although her glance was cold and blankly, that young woman was really beauty, to the point to look like more delicate and splendid than a china doll. Spain smiled. She couldn't be _as_ bad as people said.

'Hi, I'm Spain! You can call me Antonio if you want'

'You can call me pull-out-eggs' Belarus answered, giving the Spaniard's tight pants a murderous look.

'How funny…' he let out a stifled laugh. He _knew_ that the girl was saying that as a joke, or at least that was what he wanted to think 'Look, I'm going to tell you a really funny joke: a snail is going and skids' he burst out laughing awfully 'It's funny because snails are slow!'

Belarus didn't answer. Nobody in her place would say anything on the matter, since that "joke" could have a lot of adjectives which go with it properly, and "funny", precisely, wasn't one of them. In view of the Prussia's demanding screams, Austria got near and tried to whisper a joke.

He _tried it_, he really _tried it_.

'In which are a diary cow and a china vase alike?' he made a brief pause to add excitement at the moment 'Nothing'

'The mother who gave you birth, Sissy Aristocrat! That's not even a joke!' Prussia bawled in view of the menacing glance of certain Hungarian.

Clearly, Natasha didn't even deign try to smile because of the stupid that that joke was. She didn't know if that competition consisted anymore in making her laugh or sleep, because that way the poor girl was going to fall exhausted before Morpheus. She hoped that at least that that damned Frenchman kept his promise and gave her those "compromising" photos of Russia, because in the other case there was to be a true misfortune at that place.

After many tries of made the Belarusian smile, they were heard some yawns from the public. Maybe before people was afraid of that Austria and Spain being killed, but now they really wish that someone kill them and take them away as soon as possible.

'A lady is walking with Myboobs. Oh, Myboobs was the dog! It's an important detail' Spain mentioned, with an interesting face 'Well, Myboobs escapes and goes to talk to the policeman. Well, the _lady_ goes to talk with the policeman, not Myboobs. Dogs don't talk. Eh…Oh dear, I'm getting into a mess…' the attentive glance of Belarus didn't do anything but making him feeling more nervous 'Well, the lady says to the policeman: "Have you seen my dog?" Oh, no, no, wait, it wasn't like this' he let out a giggle 'She said to him: "Have you seen Myboobs?" and the policeman answers: "No, but I'd love to see them!" Hahaha! Francis told me!'

A silence formed in the air. Not even the flies dare to fly anymore, but they landed at any random place and looked at Antonio in spite, because of having told such a bad joke in that pathetic way. The only one who seemed to have been fun was in view of such monstrosity joke was France himself, who was laughing because of the lack of grace of his good friend.

Netherlands couldn't stand it anymore. That joke had been the last straw. He got up from the bench and walked slowly towards Antonio, with the wild card on his hand. The viewers looked the nation, expectantly, as if he was the great superhero who came to save the world of the tedium. Noticing his presence, Spain showed him a sincere and full of excitement.

'Netherlands! You've come to help me!

'Spain…'

He stared at Spain's eyes, who looked him with adoration. You could see that the Spaniard was having a difficult time, although. The taller of the two men put a hand over his partner's shoulder and close his eyes, adopting a solemn expression.

'Spain, I have to tell you something.'

'Tell me!' Spain was already getting too excited. Would it be that Netherlands would admit at last that he _didn't_ hate him? Maybe he had gone to help him telling a joke? In any case, the Spaniard would be grateful forever.

'That last joke was a fucking shit'

After saying that, and with all the calmness in the world, Netherland dealt Spain a kick in the genitals, who immediately fell to the floor, being victim of the pain that an attack like that meant in the vital regions. The public started to clap, being cheerful and recovering the hope of living. Netherlands had been the savior who had become true the dream of many nations. The only ones who seemed really upset with the conduct of the Dutchman were Romano— because _unknown_ reasons— and, obviously, the victim of kick himself.

However, that incident wasn't the most surprising thing. Nothing of the sort! What really attracted the attention was the reaction of Belarus herself in view such a free sample of violence.

She was smiling a bit. Belarus, the most feared woman in the world, was _smiling_. I wasn't known if that was thanks to the Dutchman's kick, the whining of the Spaniard or God knows what, but the truth was that Natasha wasn't having so much fun since the final of the South Africa World Cup.

'Oh, God, she's smiling!' Hungary exclaimed, unbelieving what she saw.

'What a misfortune' Prussia commented, without being conscious of his own words, because he was too busy dribbling and looking how the really tight t-shit of the Hungarian covered her breasts.

'You should be upset, we're losing' Ludwig said, with a hint of indifference. After all nothing was going to happen if they lose, wasn't it?

'Shit, it's true!' the stress seized the poor captain of the potato team 'We would have won if it hadn't been for that stupid joke of Myboobs! By the way, Elizaveta, could you remind me how was that joke?'

Prussia wished that Hungary started to tell him the joke, so that in the point on that the young woman made the key question of the joke ("Have you seen Myboobs?"?), he would lift the T-shit and laugh for a while. Since he was losing the competition, at least he should get a positive experience, shouldn't he?

'"The Beast" has laugh! Point for the tomator team!' Switzerland declared.

As an extra, Netherlands gave Spain a discreet little kick, who remained on the floor. The poor guy had seen pass all his life in just seconds and, the worst thing of all, was that the last scene consisted on himself lying on the floor and shouting as a crazy one possessed by the devil because of having received a kick in the "male tomatoes"

'Such a pussy' Netherlands said while he helped his old boss to get up.

'The mother who…' Spain muttered clinging to his partner's shoulder.

Taking advantage of that the final proof hadn't started yet, Alfred went to look for the big-eyebrows Britain, whose whereabouts were unknown during too much time. Although he was already getting tired, United States was a hero and had to find Arthur as soon as possible to watch the damned final.

Curiously, finding England was easier than he imagined. The American nostrils were invaded by a pretty strange smell. When he followed that "aroma" (just to give it some name), he discovered an eerie scene. He opened his eyes as much as he could and escaped terrified. He had to warn the rest of the nations now that he had time! England was…! England was…!

Exactly at the moment when Francis was going to begin to give a speech about the final proof, Alfred climbed up the scenario in slow-motion, pushed the Frenchman and snatched him the microphone the most heroic and dramatically way possible. The rest of the countries wanted the final proof to start, not hearing the rap of the panting.

'Alfred, I already know that you always want to be the main character, but today you can't, so be a good boy and give me the microphone' Francis ordered

'You don't understand it! Nobody understands it!' he was so upset and disturbed that even the words didn't come out 'I've just seen Arthur and he was… he was…!

Silence came back. Belgium could swear that she saw hoe the typical ball of straw of the cowboy's films was going through there, going unnoticed. Alfred took a deep breath, trying to keep the maximum quantity of air that his lungs allowed him.

'HE WAS COOKING!' he shouted at full blast, frightening away the few birds that there were on some trees' branches near the scenario.

Immediately, the nations felt how their hearts stopped for a moment. England…cooking? That was dangerous! Seychelles, directly, fainted. Francis, unexpectedly calm, took back the microphone from the Yankee's sweated hands and smiled.

'Don't panic! It seems that our little United States of America has revealed us the content of the last proof!' he wicked an eye 'That's right, the last proof consists in that the captains of both teams must taste food prepared by Arthur Kirkland, the terror of the gastronomy! Who dies first, loses.'

'What do you mean "Who dies first, loses"? That's inhuman, France!' Hungary shouted while she observed the Prussian with her eyes nearly full of tears. Although she was always quarreling with that fool, she didn't hate him at all!

'Gilbert! Gilbert, react!' Austria exclaimed, trying to get a word or making the captain pouted 'GILBERT!'

On the other team, the situation was similar. Spain was clinging to Lovino while he sobbed without any dignity. Belgium was sobbing desperately too, shattered because of the fact that one of his bests friends was going to pass out in just minutes. Netherlands was too shocked to articulate any word. He couldn't believe that South Italy was going to die in such a way. Somewhere on the stands, Feliciano shouted and cried his eyes out because of the future death of his older brother.

'And can't I participate instead f Romano?' Spain asked; hurt 'I don't want him to die!'

'S-Spain…' the Italian whispered, moved by the good heart of that affectionate idiot.

'No, it has to be the captain who participates. The rules are the rules' Francis condemned, talking about a rule that he could probably just made up.

'France, I'm not going to allow you to murderer my brother that way!' Germany clenched his fists, giving him a glance full of hatred.

'_C'est la vie, _Germany_._ No pain, no gain'

Still crying, North Italy got up from his seat and dried the flood which was running around his face. He wanted everything to come to an end already, and he had the feeling that only he could be able to do it.

'Stop!' he exclaimed with the aim of attract everyone's attention 'Ve, I think that both my brother and Prussia have learnt the lesson! Now both of them know that fight is bad and that talking people understand themselves! Why don't we end this massacre and everyone goes to eat _fettuccine_?'

'Feliciano…' both captains whispered, feeling that that pasta lover would be the one who would save their lives.

'Certainly not' France said empathically 'They have accepted to participate in this contest and they have to live with the consequences!'

What France didn't want to say was that if Prussia and South Italy disappeared, he would have free hand to touch certain little Spanish ass that he knew so well. Also, he would be able to visit the cute Veneziano without being spied by his older brother. Although that hadn't really being the initial main purpose of the contest, the truth was that through this Francis had developed that idea. Moreover, no matter how bad England cooked, _nobody_ would die. In that place were two people who had ingested dishes prepared by Arthur, and there they were healthy as an apple: Alfred and Antonio.

…Tough Alfred didn't have eating habits very decent, saying the truth. He had to go through a traumatic childhood and so weird he was as a grown up, being a crazy man that had an extraterrestrial as a best friend and who was a fervent admirer of Ronald McDonald. And anybody would said that Antonio, after being defeated and punished by Arthur, he had suffer a transformation and his blood of a powerful empire had became in sweet and fresh horchata of tiger nuts.

Oh, good heavens, Francis would be the responsible of the later Lovino's and Gilbert's physical and psychological deterioration. He felt a bit guilty knowing that he would be the responsible, but he couldn't pull out. Arthur had sent him a message to his mobile informing him that he had finished the food and that he was going to come in the building.

'I communicate to everyone that England is coming!' Everyone ready! And get your noses block!'

The only thing that could be heard during the following instants were that the heartbeats of all nations, who were extremely nervous. Prussia still couldn't believe that his awesome person was going to perish eating _shit_. Romano was more practical and prayed to God and Saint Genaro forgive al his sins. He was a good person, even though he was always insulting his loved ones!

And there he came. England was holding an enigmatic stinking casserole which content was better not to know. He had a smile which gave off proud and satisfaction, which horrified al the viewers and contestants. He considered himself as the most brilliant start of all the firmament, although in front of the others was the reddest, widest and full of pus of an adolescent full of complexes' face. "It is normal that he was a great empire, it is sure that he tortured the rest of the countries with that food until they give up" an _anonymous and mysterious_ nation thought (China).

'I've already brought the food!' he left the casserole in the middle of the stadium 'Is it supposed to celebrate the victory of a team or something like that?'

'Not exactly' Francis smiled mischievously 'Actually, that's the final proof. Who survives your culinary creation, will won the right to sit down next to Italy. Thanks Arthur, without you and your eyebrows covered with dandruff this wouldn't be the same'

England's poker face appeared fast. _He_ was the fucking final proof. He felt so… stupid and humiliated. He was the laughing stock again! …Although saying the truth, the rest of the nation had a scared and tearful face, not funny. But that didn't mean that that proof wasn't a clear degrading attack to him. He only wanted to feel himself useful and show the world that he also could cook something delicious! It only remained a hopeful voice in the English heart, which was whispering him that maybe his dish was delicious (even _tasteful!_) and that it would manage to shut some envy people's mouth up.

'…Let's begin the final proof' Vash declared, who put a lemon face 'Liechtenstein, close your eyes. I don't want you to see this.'

'Yes, brother…' she obeyed, praying for the souls of the tomators and potators.

Walking like zombies, Gilbert and Lovino approached to the magic casserole and stared at it a few seconds. Such a smell. Such a bad look. Why did it give off smoke? What was the reason for those bubbles?

'What is this supposed to be?' Gilbert asked while looking at Arthur suspiciously.

'Three Delight fried rice'

'Don't fuck me!' Lovino shouted with tears in his eyes 'How the fucking hell would this be Three Delight fried rice? Three Delight fried rice doesn't give off smoke! It doesn't have bubbles! Doesn't smell like a mandrill's ass!'

'Don't cry, Italian brat' Prussia said in a severe and protective tone 'Now we're not clashing each other anymore. We're not enemies anymore. Our adversary the greenish Three Delight fried rice that England has prepared' he sobbed. Shit, that wasn't _neither_ awesome 'Put your back in it and eat everything, I'll do the same. We'll show the world what we're able to do'

He felt stupid because of having said that lecture. It was due to the rice's smell, that tortures his mind and revolutionized his awesome ideas to turn them into rubbish. Arthur crossed his arms, angry. The Three Delight fried rice didn't looked _so_ bad.

'I give up!' Romano cried 'I hand you over my place, potator! You can keep Feliciano, Antonio, the keys of my car and Berlusconi! Especially Berlusconi! But, please, don't make me eat that affront to the senses!'

Since the captains refused to collaborate with the proof, Francis called his bodyguard to tie them on a chair, so that they only could move an arm. England, proud of himself, put the "Three Delight fried rice" in the bowls and leave them on the table. Lovino and Gilbert swallowed hard. They swallowed hard again. And again. They preferred to get indigestion of saliva instead having England's food in front of their view.

'Can it be known where is the rice and which are the three delights?' Prussia vociferated, deeply offended 'Why the fucking hell there's a chicken bone floating around the beans? And where the hell has that sardine's head popped up? And what's that mysterious black ball which swarms around there? Urgh, I understand NOTHING!'

'I think that the mysterious black ball you're talking about is…' Lovino took a bit with the spoon 'English eyebrow…' renewing his crying 'But kind of monster can have alopecia on the eyebrows?'

'Shut up and eat!' England shouted, furious because of the hurtful comments of those two.

As soon as they put simultaneously their spoons into their mouths, an explosion of exotic tastes and feelings traveled through the captain's bodies. They didn't know if that was due to the taste of the beans, the radioactive green sauce, the head of the sardine, the eyebrows covered with dandruff, the bone of the chicken, the grain of rice, the boiled egg, the clams or the multitude of undecipherable ingredients, but Lovino and Gilbert, for a second, felt magical and invincible. They felt strong. They felt brave. They felt able to challenge all the Greek gods and defeat them with the thumb. They felt owners of their souls and their fates. They felt like misunderstood heroes, wrapped up by the fragile and warm cloak of love of Mother Otter. They felt…_bad_. Frankly bad.

France called an ambulance.

When they opened their eyes, they were in the room of a hospital, being watched by a pair of gorgeous nurses. There were also Spain and Hungary, but they didn't count in view of the Prussia's awesome sleepy glance.

'Have I died…?' He asked in a small whisper.

'Gilbert! Thanks God!' Elizaveta threw herself into her friend's arms, crying over him 'I thought I had lost you!'

Antonio wasn't less and, as soon as he saw that Lovino had recovered conscious seconds later the Prussian, he threw himself over him and falling horizontally, filling him of kisses around all his face and gabbling corny and nonsense things. The poor Italian didn't know if he was going to die because of what he had eaten or because of had been flatted. The other countries were in the waiting room, since the entrance was allowed to only two people, and at that moment, Elizaveta and Antonio had the fortune of being the lucky ones who watched the miracle.

'I don't know if you are aware of that you have ingest _sulfuric acid_' the doctor intervened while watching the convalescent a bit intrigued.

'I imagined it…' Prussia commented.

'A normal person would have _died_ in tour situation' he scratched his back.

Thank goodness that they were nations, almost immortal and indestructible, because otherwise they wouldn't have lived to tell it. The doctor asked Spain to move away from Romano, because his stomach was fragile and shouldn't receive hits.

'This is marvelous!' Spain smiled, with tears in his eyes 'I'm so happy that both of you aare allright, guys!'

'Toño…' Gilbert mumbled trying not to faint again 'Tell me who…has won the…contest…'

Hungary and Spain looked at themselves, as if they were hiding something. Should they tell them it? The doctor nodded, closing his eyes as sign of his wisdom.

'You'll see… It turned that…while you were here ill, a lot of things had happened…There had been several meeting and so, when all's said and done, you had been here hospitalized _two _months…and…'

'Go to the point, fuck!' Lovino replied, fearing the worst.

'Now we sit by list's order to avoid problems' Hungary continued 'But you two are a special case since…Gilbert, you're not a country and Lovino, only going your brother to the meetings is enough'

'Well, you're fired' Spain added, with an uncomfortable smile.

Lovino and Gilbert didn't know if smiling, crying or burning the hospital and doing black magic. Were they fired? After all the calamities that they had to face, until being about to swallow "Three Delight fried rice" (nor rice neither delights, what it had was fucking sulfuric acid) and almost dying trying it, they were fired? So simple? They felt that the wrath took possession of their minds, that was too unfair!

'For fucks sake!' Both shouted at the same time, kicking their legs in the air on their respective couches.

'If this consoles you, you have survived. God has given you a second chance.'

'But Toño, do you think that this is a bless? I did have swallowed sulfuric acid!'

'Sulfuric acid!' Lovino insisted 'Among other _mysterious_ things!'

'England and France did have come here to apologize' Hungary declared 'They say that they feel sorry because of what has happened and that they will rewards you.

Although at that moment they felt furious, the truth was that when they calmed down and analyzed the situation with coldness, they felt really lucky. It was like they had been born again. Antonio had promised that, in case they survived, everybody would do St James's way together and would be grateful to the apostle —patron saint of Spain, Lord's friend— for having watched over his two friends. So tat, a month later that they had been discharged, Spain, South Italy, Prussia and Netherlands (who joined for no apparent reason) embarked the marvelous crossing which let them know themselves better. They tried to avoid the English or French way so they didn't bring them bad memories, since his bodies were recovered; his mind _weren't_ cured at all. Antonio could understand this personally, since when they where sixty kilometers about to arrive to Compostela and decided to rest in a inn and stay there the night, he felt that the person who was on the bed at his side was shaking. He was Prussia.

'Can't you sleep?' he asked after rubbing his eyes.

'No…' he covered his face partially with a sheet 'Toño, there's something I want to tell you… Will you listen to this awesome server?

'Of course, Gil, of course.

'At times…I see radioactive three delight fried rice…'

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><p><strong>As if they might die because of a potato fit or <strong>_**tomato**_** fit:** Play on words. The original was "daban la impresión de estar a punto de morir de un patatús (o _tomatús…)". _In Spanish, "darte un patatús (from "patata"; "potato")" means "having a fit". "Tomatus" doesn't exist, but since Lovino's team is the Tomator team, not the potator one, they should have a "tomatús". I hope the explanation isn't very confusing.

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><p>Here ends the story. I hope you've liked it as much as I did. See ya!<p> 


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